


All In

by daisylore



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Eames's and Arthur's totems are clearly related, Gambling, M/M, Mentions of past emotional manipulation, Totems, breakup with OC, rating because Arthur says 'fuck' a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8841040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisylore/pseuds/daisylore
Summary: An origin story for Arthur’s totem, and an origin story for Arthur and Eames.





	

Arthur tore through the pile of laundry that he’d, just moments ago, neatly ironed and folded. Where the fuck was it?

Scott walked up behind and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s midsection, causing him to jolt a little. “Calm down, babe. What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find my totem anywhere,” Arthur snapped, pushing out of Scott’s grasp and crouching down to search beside the bedside table.

“Oh, I put it on the desk,” Scott said. “You left it in the bathroom after you showered.”

Arthur flew around to face him. “You didn’t _open_ it, did you?”

“Well, I wanted to know the time, love, can you blame me? Although I see how it works now. _Alice in Wonderland_ ; a bit childish, isn’t it?”

“I had better be fucking dreaming right now,” Arthur muttered in disbelief, going over to the desk to check it. He flipped open the pocket-watch. It still stood perfectly still, broken at exactly six o’clock. “I can’t fucking believe you looked at my totem! It’s ruined now!” Arthur screamed, irate.

Scott walked over and kissed him on the neck. “Don't worry, Arthur; it’s okay. I thought we trusted each other?”

“Exactly.”

++

Scott had spent the next hour trying to coerce Arthur, who was packing and booking plane tickets, into staying. “Now you’ve made me into the villain, babe,” he’d said. “Imagine how I’m feeling right now.”

All lines that Arthur had heard before. Lines that had made Arthur afraid to speak his mind.

So, this time, he’d just walked out the door without a word.

He’d chosen the destination almost on autopilot, knowing there was only one person he trusted who was in on dreamshare and would understand the sanctity of a person’s totem that he could talk to (well, only one who wasn’t so completely self-obsessed that they were incapable of listening, _Dom_ ). He didn’t really think that much of it until he landed in Mombasa and had to find Eames’s address in the back page of his worn moleskin. He arrived at his door half an hour later, knocking to get a mildly surprised Eames staring at him.

“I need a drink.”

Eames paused for a moment, taking Arthur – angry, tired, disheveled – in. “Say no more.”

++

That was how Arthur and Eames ended up at the counter of a somewhat dark bar, Arthur sitting on Eames’s coat, very chivalrously draped over the grimy barstool after Eames, already sitting, had noticed Arthur’s flinch of hesitation.

Eames had got them each doubles of whiskey and then some beer for nursing, and he waited until Arthur had knocked his liquor back before speaking. “So,” he opened.

“I broke up with Scott,” Arthur said. “Manipulative bastard, it turns out.”

“He was always a right twat on the jobs I worked with him,” Eames replied, swirling the beer around in its bottle. “Serious superiority complex.”

“Fucking tell me about it. Didn’t realize it for fucking forever, though. I’ve spent the past year or so feeling worse and worse about the work I was doing, all because he was always undermining what I do, acting like anyone could do it.”

“Condescending prick. I’m pretty sure there’s no one else who could do what you do, Arthur.”

“I tried to talk to him once, about, just – it sounds infantile really – not laughing at the stuff I said, and he got so upset, said I was imagining it and making him out to seem cruel, and then I felt bad about _that_ for weeks, Eames. It’s so fucking stupid.” Arthur took a sip from his bottle and then handed it to Eames. “I hate beer; you can have this.”

Eames called over the bartender and let Arthur order for himself. After he got his vodka, he just stared at it.

“What was the tipping point? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Arthur scanned the bar for familiar faces, ever the point man at work, before digging his nails into the tabletop and purposefully not meeting Eames’s eyes. “He touched my totem.”

“He did what?”

“He knows its tell. It’s useless now.”

“Arthur, make sure he never works again.” Eames's tone, which had been the exact shade of outraged that Arthur had needed, suddenly dropped to dangerously cool and calm. Purposeful. 

Arthur looked up at Eames, one eyebrow raised.

“If someone did that to me, I’d ask you to destroy their reputation. He deserves it. I mean, there’s one singular point of honor amongst thieves in dreamshare. You don’t touch someone else’s totem. You don’t take away the one thing that keeps them tethered to reality.” Eames paused to take a drink. “Plus, it could be kind of cathartic.”

“You’re not gonna tell me he wouldn’t use it maliciously? ‘Cause that’s what he said. Said I was being paranoid. Don’t believe him, but that’s what he said,” Arthur mumbled.

“No, Arthur, I’m not going to gaslight you, but even if he really meant that, what’s to stop someone with more sinister motives from extracting that information from him?”

Arthur paused. “That’s a good fucking point, Eames.”

“So ruin him. And get yourself a new totem, okay?”

Arthur nodded.

“A better one than this one.”

Arthur stilled for a moment and then nodded again.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes until Arthur piped up again. “I don’t really feel like drinking, actually.”

“Then let’s stop.”

“Makes me feel too out of control. I want to be running the show again, you know? Know exactly what’s going to happen, and know that I’m going to come out on top.”

Eames paused for a moment to think until small grin spread across his face. “Arthur,” he asked, “would you like to cheat at cards?”

++

The casino strip was a wild, bustling mess of lights and noise. “This is crazy,” Arthur said as they entered the establishment of Eames’s choice.

“Ah, yes, we’re all mad here, darling,” Eames said, flashing Arthur a smile. Arthur would be lying if he said his heart didn’t involuntarily flutter.

Hustling the house turned out to be good fun. Arthur knew all the classic tricks – had practiced them with Eames before during the boring spells on reconnaissance missions or while stuck in safe houses – but it was exhilarating to put them into action. It was all going pretty well until –

“Shit, Arthur, grab your chips,” Eames yelled over the hubbub, reaching over and grasping Arthur’s hand. “We’ve got to run.”

And Arthur, who trusted Eames’s judgment and wasn’t enough of an idiot to delay what was clearly a time-sensitive situation with questions, ran with him.

Once they’d cleared the casino, Eames released Arthur hand but kept running, and then started to laugh. And suddenly they were nearing the ocean, and they were doubled over, out of breath from their escape and from laughter that wouldn’t stop, and Arthur wasn’t quite sure why it was so funny but, so long as he was laughing, he didn’t want to question it.

“The man who owns the casino might know me,” Eames gasped out.

“You think?” Arthur jibed, taking one of the poker chips out of his suit pocket and throwing it playfully at Eames.

“Sorry, I thought maybe you could use the thrill of the chase. You seemed a bit lethargic, earlier, and I didn’t like seeing you like that.”

“I do feel a bit freer now,” Arthur admitted. He actually hadn’t though about Scott since they had left the bar. “What are we going to do with all of these?” he asked, brandishing another poker chip.

“Oh, I have a collection. Both real and fake. They have their uses.”

“You take the title of forger far too literally.”

“One of my many charms. And I just like to see what I can get away with – counterfeit chips, loaded dice, rigged decks, anything you can think of, really.”

“Charming indeed,” Arthur grinned.

++

They spend the next few days just running amok in Mombasa, making money at the casinos using Eames’s menagerie of tricks and then throwing it all back at the markets, where Arthur learned quite a bit from Eames about Maasai beadwork, a craft that he revered. It really suited him, Arthur thought. The colors and patterns were loud and distinct, but somehow they worked together, a potpourri of chaos creating a unique masterpiece.

Oddly, it was just as fun – and wonderful and maddening and stimulating – to do absolutely nothing of purpose with Eames as it was to work an extraction with him.

Then, it was time for Arthur to head to Japan for a job he had accepted weeks ago. Eames took him to the airport and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before they parted ways, and that was that. The best few days he’d had in recent (or even non-recent) memory were over.

++

Eames sauntered, a big jet-lagged, into the warehouse in Paris for his first day working with the rest of the team. It was the first time he had seen Arthur since he had paid him that unexpected visit in Mombasa. It hadn’t been unwanted, but it was a weird, wondrous mix of elation and pure torture. Being so close to Arthur, waking up every morning and finding Arthur sitting in his kitchen, but having him still so out of reach in every way that mattered wasn’t exactly what Eames would have wanted. He couldn’t even tell how he felt about the breakup, really. He’d spent so long telling himself that he should be happy for Arthur having found someone that he almost believed it, felt like a terrible person for the reflexive joy that bubbled up when he’d heard that Scott was out of the picture.

Eames had never liked the way that unrequited love felt.

He was excited, in his silly, hopelessly hopeful way, to speak to Arthur again. He was under right now with their new architect, Ariadne, so Eames took to organizing his workspace until they surfaced. He wandered over just in time to overhear Arthur explaining the concept of totems to Ariadne.

“A totem is something small and heavy, often of personal significance, with some unique characteristic that only you know. This is a loaded die. Only I know the balance and the weight of this particular loaded die. That way, when I look at my totem, I know without a doubt that I’m not in someone else’s dream.”

The die glimmered, catching the afternoon light streaming in from the high windows. It was red, just like the collection of similar dice he had showed Arthur back at his place. Arthur had been curious, had been interested when Eames was showing him all the tricks of his trade, had sat there and smiled as Eames rambled on excitedly. There it was, trapped between Arthur’s thumb and forefinger, something small and heavy and maybe, just maybe, of personal significance.

Eames waited until the end of the day to talk to Arthur about it, hoping it could mean everything he wished it did.

++

“New totem, darling?”

Arthur’s breath caught a little. “I’d hoped you’d notice.”

“A loaded die. Have I finally corrupted you, Arthur? Were you seduced into the life of a gambler?”

“Under certain circumstances, I’ve been known to have been tempted,” Arthur said, his pupils widening a little.

Eames took a deep breath and stepped a little bit closer. “Arthur, you sentimental dolt, please tell me I’m not reading this wrong.”

“You’re not.” Arthur leaned forward and kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> ...and they lived happily ever after, OBVIOUSLY. 
> 
> Yeah, I kinda turned around the Inception timeline because I don’t think Eames is there when Ari gets the totem talk, but… it’s fanfiction, right?


End file.
